


Pansy Parkinson Vs The World

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epic, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Good Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kissing, POV Harry Potter, POV Pansy Parkinson, Story within a Story, Tag(line) You're It! Competion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29653398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Pansy Parkinson is the luckiest girl in the world - despite the fact that her life is somewhat less glamourous than she is used to. She is so lucky purely because she loves and is loved by none other than the Chosen One. However, as Harry fights in the war, she is sent into hiding to wait for his victory over the Dark Lord.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18
Collections: Tag(line) You're It! Competition





	Pansy Parkinson Vs The World

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tagline_Youre_It_Comp_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "An epic of epic epicness"  
> (Scott Pilgrim Vs The World)
> 
> Written for the Tag(Line): You're It! competition with special thanks to my alpha and Fae Orabel (comp admin) for stepping in as a last-minute beta. You're both wonderful and just too good to me. 
> 
> I also opted for the Director's Choice edition - meaning that not only was my female character chosen for me, but so was my prompt/ tagline.

Things had changed for Pansy after her seventh year at Hogwarts. Life was hard, but what else could one expect when one's greatest love fought for freedom and peace? Yes, that's right. Pansy Parkinson was in love—with Harry Potter. Boy Wonder, the Boy-Who-Lived, thwarter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Yes, that Harry Potter! And wondrously, miraculously, he loved her too. 

So, she found herself in hiding at Harry's behest. 

Pansy Parkinson was also a charitable person. Every other day, she found herself in a wizarding orphanage. The numbers had grown rapidly over the last few years, with the Dark Lord's reign of terror affecting many more families than could ever be named. Every day, new children were admitted to the home, rarely did any leave, but Pansy helped take care of each and every one. Her primary responsibility was to keep the little ones occupied throughout the day. If you'd asked her to do this a few years ago, she'd have laughed in your face, said something snide and mean and stalked away. Now—now it was a different story. She lived for these children. They were the light of her life while her love was absent. 

"Tell us about him again, Miss Parkinson," one little blonde girl pleaded, swiping at her wet nose. 

"Which story would you like to hear, dear one?" Pansy hummed. The stories of Harry's triumphs were always favourites for the children. She supposed they could imagine themselves fighting off Basilisks and Werewolves, Dementors and Dragons. And why not? Harry had—and all before he was fifteen. 

"The epic one!" Another child piped up. Pansy swivelled to face him, her hand flying to her heart as she took in his countenance. He could have easily been a Weasley child, but Pansy knew there were none so young as he. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. 

"Yes! Tell us an epic of epic epicness," another young boy squealed, delighted with his joke. 

"You want to hear the grand one?" Pansy encouraged them.

"The one with how you fell in love," swooned another little girl. She was dressed as a fairy princess—it was no wonder she wanted to hear something with a happy ending—though Pansy has technically yet to get hers. 

"Yes," came a chorus from the little girls. The boys groaned in unison, showing their displeasure.

"Alright," Pansy clapped, "how about I tell you _everything_?"

"Yay!" They cheered.

Pansy grinned, delighted. Changed though she may be, she was no less vain, and she was thrilled to have a captive audience.

Pansy led them through her first meeting with Harry and his first year at Hogwarts; how things had not been smooth at all. He had been sorted into the brave and daring house of Gryffindor, and really while she might have grumbled about it—it was the best fit for him in the end because as the year progressed, he found himself in treacherous circumstances. He nearly died on the Quidditch pitch! Then, he had to face ordeal after ordeal in his pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone. 

Pansy paused for dramatic effect.

"And then, he met with the quivering Professor Quirrel... He unwrapped his purple turban, and you'll never guess what was attached to the back of his head!"

"What?" squealed the little girl with the snotty nose.

"The face of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Pansy replied, letting her voice drop several octaves. 

The children reeled backwards, shocked by the admission.

"It's true," Pansy nodded. Her finger stuck in the air for emphasis. "The Dark Lord had been partially possessing po-p-poor Professor Quirrel for the whole year! And he was after the Philosopher's Stone, thinking it could give him back his body. But my Harry, even at the young age of eleven, was too good for him. Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord and Professor Quirrel and saved the Philosopher's Stone from their evil hands!"

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeepic," cooed the young boy with red hair and freckles. "What happened next, Miss Parkinson?"

"Oh no, sweetheart, what happens next is much too frightful. I couldn't possibly—"

"You can, you can!" The children rallied together, huddling closer and begging Pansy for more. Grinning, she obliged them.

And so, she ran through the tales of Harry's accomplishments, year after year. She was careful to include all of their sweet love stories, too. How she'd developed a crush on him and thought herself ridiculous and then how they'd once been thrown in detention together during their sixth year, made to clean the Potions lab until the dark and dank room gleamed. It had all changed on that fateful evening. She altered the details of their first kiss, of course, since the children needn't be privy to all of the story.

"That's it for storytime today, children," came one of their teachers, “it's time for dinner, baths and bed. Off you trot, come on now." The teacher clapped her hands for emphasis. She offered Pansy a cup of tea, which she gratefully accepted, and two ginger snaps—Pansy's favourite. 

As some of the children scurried away, eager for their evening meal, others loitered and dragged their feet, hoping for a little bit more of the story. Not wanting to upset the teachers and other caregivers, Pansy sent them on their way. Truthfully, her throat was a little sore from all the talking. She was fatigued, too. The tea would surely combat both of these symptoms, so she sat in her favourite place by the window, overlooking the gardens as she sipped. Daintily, of course—she was a lady, after all.

Pansy watched the sun sink lower in the sky, knowing she needed to be on her way back home, but her Auror escort hadn't arrived yet, so she let herself drift away on her thoughts of Harry. Pansy was sure that when they’d won the war, and he came to collect her, that he wouldn't come empty-handed. He'd have a ring in his pocket and a question on his lips. She daydreamed of how she'd respond. Should she appear shocked? As if it were the last thing on her mind? Should she scream and jump for joy, telling him yes—yes, of course, she would? Or would it be best to join him down there on the floor, take his face in her hands and kiss him with all of the love she possessed?

The war had not yet been won, and Harry was off with Weasley and Granger finding a way to win it. Pansy was trying not to despair, but she missed Harry with all of her being. It had felt like years since she'd seen him last. The seven Horcruxes were the seven evil hurdles they had to overcome before they could resume their happily ever after. Pansy tried not to let her thoughts wander too frequently. The idea of Harry surviving out there in the wilds with only Granger and Weasley for company, freezing through the winter months and barely a decent meal on the table every day—it was almost too much to bear. If she could take the heavy burden away from him, she would, but the prophecy declared that it _had_ to be Harry. He, in turn, had insisted upon her safety.

Pansy sat in the little box window, overlooking the orphanage’s lovely gardens, as she sipped on her cup of tea. Her thoughts drifted to happier times of the past, and she imagined the happiest of times in her future. Finally, her personal Auror, Anne, showed up to take her home, and Pansy floated along behind her, succumbing to her daydreams. 

Pansy lay awake in bed that night. She hadn't wanted to tell the children too much of her first kiss with Harry, but that didn't mean that she couldn't _think_ of it... especially here, in her bedroom, where she was all alone. Closing her eyes, she let her hands and her mind drift.

 _"Merlin, Potter," Pansy said, slamming the door behind her. "What did_ you _do to piss off Slughorn and get thrown in detention? I thought he bloody loved you—that you couldn't put a foot wrong. How'd you end up in here?" She asked him. She leant over a desk and propped her head upon her hands, ensuring Harry the best possible view of her unbuttoned blouse._

_To her delight, he blushed but didn't look away. "Er, well, yes—" he stammered. Encouraged, Pansy crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them forward and giving him a better look at her cleavage. The tips of his ears turned pink, almost glowing in the dark potions lab, and he turned away—picking his broom back up. "Turns out, I'm not cut out for the role of teacher's pet, after all."_

_Enjoying her game, Pansy rounded the large desk that Slughorn used for his demonstrations. Daintily picking up some leftover shrivel figs, she tossed them in a nearby wastebasket and continued her flirtatious tease with the Chosen One. Fanning herself with one hand, she said, "Ooof, this is hard work. It's hot in here, isn't it, Potter?"_

_"It's the dungeons, Parkinson. We're practically underwater. It's never hot in here," Harry deadpanned, refusing to meet her eyes._

_She was peeling off her tight school sweater and untucking her blouse from her skirt. "Well," she said, "I'm feeling rather warm. I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable," Pansy smirked, popping an extra button loose._

_Harry swallowed audibly and averted his eyes once more. "Whatever floats your boat, Parkinson, but you could pick up a cloth or something, you know."_

_Undeterred, Pansy got to work. She rolled the sleeves of her shirt up and left the messier areas of the lab for Harry—sticking to the things that wouldn't get her dirty. She bent over at every opportunity, sticking her arse in the air with the knowledge that her skirt was short and her underwear was scant. She'd known when Harry had caught a glimpse when something crashed loudly to the floor, and he swore loudly, claiming to have stubbed his toe. Pansy was having the time of her life. Eventually, all that they had left to clean was the shelves in the storeroom and its little jars of ingredients. Grinning, Pansy squeezed herself in there with Harry, brushing past him on her way to the back of the small pantry. Now was her chance. She couldn’t be sure that she’d have the opportunity to be alone with Harry again. If she didn't try her luck now, she'd always regret it._

_"Hey, Potter," she said, making him turn towards her. "You've got a little something on your face," she told him. "No, not there," she smiled coyly as he swiped his fingers across his nose. "No, not there, either," she giggled as he tried his cheek. "Just come here. I'll get it for you."_

_Harry moved towards her as if she had him on a string. His movements were jerky and awkward, reaching her within two steps. "Where?" He whispered, patting at his face._

_"Right here," Pansy murmured, running her thumb lightly across his bottom lip. His breath caught in his throat. She stopped breathing altogether. Pansy left her thumb right where it was as Harry's eyes danced over hers. She really couldn't give the guy any more of a hint, but she'd try the last trick she had in her book—she let her eyes wander from his and down to his mouth, lingering there for a moment and then back up to his piercing green gaze._

_It was like Harry was incapable of moving or thinking on his own. Honestly, Pansy wasn't sure how he had managed to get this far in life and was seriously starting to question her own wisdom in her attraction to him, but then—like a gear had finally kicked in, he lowered his lips to hers. Harry's hands were light and unsure on her hips, sending tiny little thrills of pleasure through her. His lips were gentle, lacking in confidence and maybe a little clumsy too, but Pansy didn't mind. There was fire racing through her blood, butterflies erupting in her stomach, and magic sizzling along her skin wherever it met with his. She latched on to him, pulling him closer, harder,_ tighter _against her body. They stumbled back against a shelf, and Harry fitted his leg between her thighs. Perhaps he knew what he was doing after all? His mouth muffled her moan, and she darted her tongue out to taste him. A quick moment later, their tongues were clashing together, and Pansy was lost in the sensation of their passion. He lifted her higher; potions and their ingredients crashed to the floor around them as Pansy sat on the shelf. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she could feel him hard against her and longed for more. Her body craved skin on skin, but when she reached for his belt buckle, he pulled away. The movement was so sudden that it felt as though she'd been doused with a bucket of cold water._

_She sat for a moment, catching her breath, trying not to show the hurt she was feeling. Harry ran a hand over his face and resolutely looked at anything other than her._

_"What was that?" He asked her, staring at the floor._

_"I believe that people generally refer to that as making out, Potter. Maybe you've heard of it?"_

_Harry scoffed by way of response. "I thought you hated me?"_

_"I thought_ you _hated_ me _!" Pansy replied. She couldn't decide if she should start buttoning up again or if she should continue acting unphased._

_"I think it's quite clear that I don't hate you," Harry said, gesturing indelicately to the bulge in his pants. "But, er. I think I need to go... can you manage the rest on your own?" He looked pointedly down at the mess on the floor._

_Pansy huffed but nodded._

_"Good, er. Umm, I guess I'll see you later?" Adjusting his pants, Harry scurried forward and pecked her quickly on the cheek, then turned tail and all but ran from the dungeon. Pansy got to work immediately, no longer caring if she sullied her uniform. With the potions lab clean, she returned to the Slytherin common room, showered and took herself to bed where she let her hands wander behind the drapes of her four-poster._

Now, she was unafforded the four-poster and all of the privacy it offered, but in its place, she had her own bedroom and the freedom to touch herself however she wanted. Pansy came onto her fingers just as forcefully as she had the first time she thought of Harry pressed against her in the store cupboard. 

* * *

The next morning, Pansy showered, dressed, ate her breakfast and was escorted back to the orphanage.

"Anne?" She questioned as they entered the building, "Do you have any new information for me in regards to Harry? How are things going? Has he been in contact at all?"

"You know that Mr Potter doesn't keep us up to date, Miss Parkinson. He is a very busy man, doing very important things," Anne smiled at her sadly.

"Yes," Pansy agreed. "I hope it's all over soon. I'm _so over_ this war. It's lasted long enough," Pansy barely contained her anger. It wasn't fair to be kept from the one you love for so long. 

"Maybe he will come and visit you soon," Anne consoled her.

"Maybe," Pansy sighed, wishing it were true. She sat down in her favourite chair of the sitting room and waited for the children to finish their breakfast so she could regale them with Harry's adventures once more. 

  
  


* * *

It was one of Harry’s least favourite things to do. Publicity and anything else of the sort always gave him a sense of the heebie-jeebies. That one-time interview with Rita Skeeter in a Hogwarts broom closet still added fuel to his nightmares—of which he had a lot. But the war was over now, he had come out as the Victor, the Chosen-One who Conquered, and he had different responsibilities. Harry idly wondered if he would rather be back on the frontlines, dropping his wand and accepting the killing curse. Why couldn’t he just save the world and then fall off the face of it? Live a normal life, get married, have a family—out of the public eye, like an ordinary person? But no, he was Harry Potter, and nothing he ever did would go unnoticed—ever.

Today, he was visiting his nephew and the other sick children who, for the time being, resided at St Mungo’s. He was happy to do this, thrilled in fact, to be making some sort of small difference in their lives. What he hated about it was that it would be recorded. A reporter from _The Prophet_ was following him with a photographer in tow. Couldn’t a man just do a nice thing and not have to promote it? Harry swept through the halls of the Magical hospital, hardly needing to look at the signs. There were just some experiences that a person didn’t forget—and his visit to St Mungo’s in his fifth year was one of them. Harry navigated his way to the second floor, dubbed for “Magical Bugs”. The floor housed all magical ailments, diseases—and unwell magical children. At least with magic, the children of the ward were constantly occupied. Harry pushed open the doors to the area and let his feet carry him to the back room. He would start with the fittest children, then move on to the bed-ridden children. That way, he'd have time to visit with them all. He knocked tentatively on the creche door, the photographer snapping away. Sticking his head through, he saw and heard the children give a collective gasp, followed by immediate squeals of delight. He let their joy wash over him, ridding him of the negative feelings he had about the trip. They seemed to be involved in some sort of storytime, a nurse sitting in a comfortable chair, surrounded by children who were hurrying to stand and make their way over to them.

“Hello,” Harry greeted them all, a broad grin on his face. “My name is—”

A loud shriek rent through the air as the nurse turned in her seat and clapped her eyes on him. Harry felt his heart sink to his stomach and suddenly wished the ground would swallow him whole. 

“Harry!” Pansy hollered as if she wasn’t just ten feet away. She leapt from her chair and had crossed to him within a span of approximately two seconds—or an eternity if you asked Harry. It happened so quickly that he had no time to turn away; all he could do was feel his heart thudding behind his ribs. Pansy threw herself into his arms, smothering his face with kisses. The photographer was having a field day, his camera clicking away—as if he couldn’t develop the film into a small movie of its own. The journalist didn’t tear her eyes away from the scene for one second as she filled page after page with notes for her article. 

“You’re here,” Pansy crooned into his neck, “You’re finally _here_. I’ve waited what feels like forever, Harry. But you’re here now. Is it done? Did you defeat him? Are we safe?” It all rushed out of her mouth like she wouldn’t have another chance to ask.

Gently, Harry pried her from his neck and torso. He offered her his hand as a consolation prize. “Er, Pansy, will you come with me for a moment? We need to have a conversation.” He winced, unsure how his words would affect her. Harry glanced over his shoulder and glared at the reporter, “Fetch a Healer, would you?” When she simply raised her eyebrows at him, he softened his facial expression, hoping that the urgency would wear off on her. He wasn’t above using his “I’m Harry Potter” card if it came to it. Thankfully, the witch bustled off to find a Healer, and Harry was able to lead Pansy to a quiet corner, asking the children for just a few moments alone with his dear friend, Miss Parkinson.

Alone again, Harry had a hard time keeping Pansy’s hands from his body. He settled with taking both of her hands in his with the hopes that he could keep her busy enough just by holding them.

“Pansy, do you know why I’m here?” He asked her quietly.

To his horror, Pansy smiled prettily and batted her eyelashes at him. “I have an idea, yes,” she said, her smile widening.

“Er, well, the thing is, Pansy—is that I don’t think you do. I’m just here to visit the children. You know, say hello, have a chat, keep their spirits up… that sort of thing.” Harry kept his eyes on their joined hands, hoping he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. 

“You mean you’re not here for me? Is it not over, then? It’s not safe for me to come out of hiding?” Pansy leaned into him, seeking comfort from her confusion. Harry felt a tear drop on to his hand, and his whole being recoiled at having to tell her this—again. It broke his heart every time.

“It’s… it’s been over for years now, Pansy.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Pansy had heard him or not. She was still looking down at her small hands in his, twisting his ring around on his finger. Something hot and sticky started to bubble up inside of Harry’s stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.

“What—what is this, Harry? On your finger?” 

Oh, so she was going to be quiet and calm. This was an improvement from last time. Harry could work with this. He saw Pansy’s nurse shift back into the room, her eyes blowing wide as she saw him with Pansy. Carefully, she schooled her face into one of joy and joined them. 

“Look who’s come to visit, Pansy. Isn’t this just delightful? Exactly what you’ve been waiting for, too. Shall I make you both a cup of tea, and you can sit together?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Harry smiled at the nurse. Words couldn’t express how grateful he was to have her nearby, but he hoped that his smile would. As Anne bustled off to the nearby tea station, Harry guided Pansy to the other side of the room—another quiet space, but this one grouped with chairs for visitors. He pulled up two and offered one to her. Pansy took it, still silent. Harry wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or concerned at how well she was responding to seeing him again. He tried to be honest with her in the past, under her Healers’ instruction, but she always needed immediate sedation. Sadly, Pansy never retained the new information when she next woke. It was a strange sort of self-inflicted disassociation of the mind, and the Healers had no precedent on how to treat her. Ideally, she would be at home, in the care of loved ones, but instead, they spent their fortune keeping her here year after year. Harry had once considered bringing her home to live with them, but Ginny had put her foot down, and the Healers had agreed. 

Anne delivered them their tea and retreated, keeping a close eye on them as Harry shifted in his seat, preparing to have another difficult conversation. Pansy worried at the cuticles around her perfectly shaped nails, a nervous habit she’d always had. 

“It’s my wedding ring, Pansy. You’ve seen it before, actually. The last time I came to visit.”

The teacup shook in Pansy’s hand as she lifted it to her mouth. “Wed-wedding ring?” She stammered. “When did we get married? Where’s _my_ ring?” She asked, looking from Harry’s crestfallen face to the place where she thought a ring should be.

Harry wanted to set his tea aside and take her hands back in his, but he needed her hands free to hold the cup. If her hands were otherwise occupied, she might not drink. Harry waited a few more moments before he replied, supplying Pansy with another chance to sip from her cup. She did, and Harry was able to continue.

“No, Pansy. You and I did not get married. I… I married someone else. The thing is, Pansy, you and I—”

“We _had_ something, Harry. _You and I_ —we were special! And you _married_ someone else? Who was it? Granger? The She-Weasel?” Pansy’s calm was dissolving rapidly. This was always the hardest part. Harry needed to be careful with how he progressed.

“What we had _was_ special, Pansy. I agree,” Harry placed one hand on her knee.

Slightly mollified, Pansy took another sip, and Harry relaxed just a little bit more.

“It was special,” he insisted, meeting her eyes, “but it didn’t last long. Just a few weeks back in our sixth year before everything got… before Dumbledore,” Harry heaved a sigh. Even after all these years and the realisations he had come to about the man, Harry still loved him, and it was difficult to think of that particular moment. Pansy’s eyes were starting to droop anyway, and Anne hurried over as Harry caught her, slumped in his arms. 

“Merlin, _what_ was she doing in here today?” Harry asked, finally able to let some of his anger come through.

“Apologies, Mr Potter,” Anne sighed as she signalled for another nurse to help her transport Pansy back to her room. “Apparently, we have had a switch in admin staff, and no one knew you were coming today,” her cheeks bore a slightly rosy colour.

“Yes, well. Nothing we can do now. Shall I help you get her back to her room? Write her a note or something?”

“We will keep you up to date on her progress when she wakes up, as usual, Sir,” and even after all these years, Anne did a wobbly little bow and left with Pansy and another nurse.

Harry’s eye twitched in time to the sound of the camera flash and a quill scratching on paper. Pulling in a deep lungful of air, he released it slowly and spun back to the staff from _The Daily Prophet_.

“Get some good takes, did you?” He asked, smiling against his better nature. “I hope you’ve got some more film packed away for the real story?” 

“Real story? I think we just got it!” The journalist replied, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

“Really? Can I see them?” Harry held out his hand, indicating that he’d like to see the notes.

“Erm, sure, I guess…” she replied, handing them over. 

“Excellent,” Harry said, flipping through the pages casually. “ _Accio Camera,_ ” Harry pulled the film from the camera, " _Incendio_ ," his spell work was so quick that the reporter and photographer could do nothing other than stare as he lit the parchment and film on fire. “Right then,” Harry handed the camera back, “you said you had more film, yes?”


End file.
